


Big Trouble in Little Thamasa

by Mina Lightstar (ukefied)



Category: Final Fantasy VI
Genre: Gen, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-22
Updated: 2014-04-22
Packaged: 2018-01-20 11:12:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1508402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ukefied/pseuds/Mina%20Lightstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You know that thing's got a face for an arse, right?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Big Trouble in Little Thamasa

**Author's Note:**

  * For [deadcellredux](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadcellredux/gifts).



> I am sorry. I should not be allowed ... anywhere.

When Ultros meets Typhon for the first time, he's up to his fangs in trouble. Crude caricature still burned into his retinas, he's falling, falling, eight meaty limbs all trying—and failing—to find purchase along the rocky chasm. _This is how it ends,_ he thinks. _This is how the great and regal Ultros meets his end._ Thrown over a cliff by a bunch of meatheads, and insulted by a little girl.

It's not his end, though. No, it's a beginning.

Ultros bounces off something plump and soft, rolling onto the ground with his tentacles fanning out in a most impressive display of indignity. "Gragfhhhh," he says into the dirt. "What'd I land on?"

_F'UUUUNGAAAAHHH._

Quick as a whip, Ultros rights himself. He bares his massive yellow fangs and slams his appendages against the ground to make himself more threatening. "Who goes there?" he demands.

As it turns out, a massive demon goes there. Illuminated only by the aura of its own energy, the demon hovers above Ultros, sporting a gaping maw fit to rival his own. What really convinces Ultros that this pink-and-purple monstrosity is bad news is the _second_ gaping maw coming out of its arse.

Ultros withdraws immediately, tentacles drooping to a more submissive pose. "Hey, whoa—easy there, Mister…?" Demons with faces for asses deserved respect.

To his relief, the demon doesn't advance further. It contemplates Ultros for a moment, sniffing the air and making a face.

"Yeah, sorry about that. I got a whoopin' from some meatheads up there and my ink is on the fritz. What's your name, good sir?" Ultros turns on the charm. This thing can fly; maybe it can give Ultros a ride out of here.

"FUNGAH."

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Chupon."

" _FUNGAH._ "

"Sorry, sorry! Mr. Typhon. I honestly thought you said—"

"FUNGAAAH."

"Yes, well … I'm Ultros. Octopus royalty." He rubs his massive head with one tentacle. "I'm down here because my arch-nemeses got one up on me again."

Typhon cocks the larger of his heads, intrigued. His aura is still illuminating the cavern, but it is no longer threatening.

"Yeah, nemeses—plural. There's about … a dozen of them, or something. Mostly weird-looking, unattractive men. Couple of delectable morsels there, though." Ultros makes a helpless gesture with a couple of his appendages. "Say, Mr. Typhon, I don't suppose I could trouble you for a lift out of here, could I? I've got some vengeance I'd like to exact."

As luck would have it, Typhon was quite keen on vengeance—even if it wasn't personal. Ultros manages to snag both a ride out of the darkness and a partner in crime.

***

Ultros is a charred, dangling mess of limbs when he watches Typhon breaks out the greatest trick the Devil ever pulled. As he clings to Typhon's arsehead-thing—he hasn't figured out what to call it—his newfound companion lets loose a mighty roar. The force of it blows the green-haired girl, the eyesore with the bandana, and the muscle-head clear off the deck.

"You didn't tell me you could do that!" 

"FUNGAH," the arsehead says, foul breath wafting up Ultros's nostrils.

"I know I didn't ask, but—wait, hold on." The Imperial Air Force hasn't let up their assault. The meathead at the wheel is steering like it's his first day at the helm. It's looking more and more like they should quit while they're ahead. "Mr. Typhon, I strongly suggest we let the Imperials go down with this ship." With any luck, they'll be able to spot some meathead splotches on the ground below.

Typhon doesn't reply. With Ultros in tow, he whisks them away as swiftly as he had flown to the Blackjack in the first place. All in all, a perfect plan.

Except for the part about the world breaking.

***

After the world changes, they are grounded for days. Typhon had sustained an injury from the Goddesses going haywire, the delicate balance of all things magical now thrown off kilter. At the center of the new world was Kefka, known openly as the God of Magic and not-so-openly as being a few cards short of a full deck.

Ultros tends to Typhon as best he can, knowing very little of otherworldly demonic physiology and being all thumbs, so to speak. Gigantic tentacle thumbs. At this point, Ultros realizes that this has progressed from a common goal to an actual friendship.

"Fungah," Typhon warbles, sprawled out on his side with a gaping hole in his magical hide.

"I know, I know," Ultros says, not unkindly. He offers what comfort he can, patting Typhon awkwardly with his tentacles. "Will you heal? Should I steal tonics from children? I'm not sure there are any children left."

He isn't sure there is much of anything left. They're stranded in a vast wasteland, surrounded by dying vegetation and abject despair. Kefka doesn't seem to have grasped the idea that being a supreme ruler meant having a planet to actually rule. Ultros should really talk to him.

"Fungaaah," Typhon says, snuggling closer.

"Of course I'll stay," Ultros assures him. "I wouldn't lure you out into the world to abandon you. All we've got left is each other, Mr. Typhon." He sniffles, feeling wistful. "Even my meatheads are gone. All I wanted was to pay Siegfried back. I didn't think it would turn into this debacle." He considers this. "Actually, Siegfried's probably dead, too. Maybe we're the only two creatures left alive."

***

They're not. Also, Siegfried is alive.

"You still owe me gil," the swordsman says, hand on the pommel of his blade's hilt.

"And the thing about that is…" Ultros frowns, scratching his head. "The thing about that is, I don't have any gil. Not since the Cataclysm."

"Oh ho?" Siegfried muses. "And what happened to the riches you promised me?"

"Dropped them during the breaking of the world. Have you noticed I don't have any pockets? I've been wandering around in the nude."

The telltale hiss of Siegfried's blade leaving its scabbard sends a chill up Ultros's meaty limbs. Mouthing off at Siegfried is never a good idea, and having a recovering Typhon in tow compels Ultros to raise four tentacles in surrender. Mercifully, Siegfried stays his hand.

"I'll get your money the old-fashioned way. Do you know anyone who's hiring?"

"Fungah?" Typhon asks, puzzled.

"Dragon's Neck Coliseum," Siegfried says, sliding his blade home again. "I spend a lot of time there myself. I'll be able to collect from you in installments. You can take your … friend … with you." He turns away, but gives Ultros one last glance. "You know that thing's got a face for an arse, right?"

"Don't listen to him," Ultros says afterward. "He has no concept of true beauty."

***

"This is discrimination."

The owner of Dragon's Neck gives Ultros a dubious look. "Because I don't think a massive octopus can fit behind my receptionist desk?"

"Exactly. I happen to be a trim, fit octopus. If you let me behind that desk, my work ethic will—heh—blow you away!"

"I really don't see—"

"I can take _eight_ messages at a time!"

***

The plan is genius, no doubt about it. Ultros may be trapped doing undignified desk work to pay off his debt to Siegfried, but they have an ace in the hole. Typhon is back in fine form, hacking massive balls of mucus into his opponents as he blows them from the battlefield and collects their wagers. They might not be making any gil with Ultros's labor, but they are running Dragon's Neck from the inside.

_Genius._

Ultros is on top of the world, even if he is taking messages and arranging schedules. Siegfried is satisfied, they have a steady flow of treasure, and the two of them have found a place in this horrible new world.

Then the ninja shows up and ruins _everything._

"Yewouch!" Ultros yipes, all right limbs stiffening. "Who invited you?! How are you alive?!"

"How are _you_ alive." It's not a question. "Register me."

"No," Ultros says before he can think better of it. If the ninja is here, then the rest of his meathead friends can't be far behind.

The ninja's eyes can't be seen beneath the cowl and mask he is wearing, but his gaze still makes Ultros swallow. "Register me."

"Yeah, sure thing, of course."

***

The other meatheads show up a week later. In the span of but a few moments, Ultros discovers that his vengeance was all for naught. All of his arch-nemeses are alive and irritatingly well, going on about saving the world and making fun of Ultros's new profession.

"I approve," the musclehead says. "This is a good move for you."

"Finally," the blonde morsel laughs, "a use for your eight slimy limbs. Stay out of trouble."

It's all Ultros can do not to leap over the counter and spray ink all over the coliseum. "I hope Mr. Typhon sneezes all over you!"

***

The one saving grace of it all is that Typhon makes good on Ultros's threat. Any time those meatheads wager something inconsequential, Typhon is sure to claim the fight and end it effortlessly. If nothing else, Ultros knows that Typhon is doing that for _him._

And at the end of the day, in this broken world where people beat each other for sport, Ultros and Typhon curl up together and tally their day's bounty.

"Meeting you was the best thing that ever happened to me," Ultros says, wrapping a tentacle around Typhon's squishy body. "I can't believe something like you came out of a place like Thamasa."

Typhon's familiar growl is warm and comforting. "F'uuuungaaah."

"I love you, too, Mr. Typhon. I love you, too."

It may not be the ending Ultros had been hoping for, but it's still a good ending.


End file.
